


Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

by danglingdingle



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: Exhibitionism (of sorts), Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11162037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danglingdingle/pseuds/danglingdingle
Summary: There's somethingwickedin the thoughts of one Will Turner that makes him all hot and bothered.





	Mirror, Mirror On The Wall

Discovery  
  
Wide awake, bare back pressed against the wall right next to the door he’d just closed with all haste, Will tried to breath as noiselessly as he could, clutching to his plunder with his heart in his throat, eyes widened in a swirling mix of excited disbelief and suddenly roiling arousal.  
  
Closing his eyes only led to the scene to reemerge before his eyes in all detail, as if it had been singed into his mind forever.   
  
Failing to assuage the trail his thoughts had taken, as it was inexorably veered towards his own tendencies, Will let out a shuddering gasp, adjusted himself, only to find that he was too hard to move without discomfort. Clasping onto the one part of his newly-discovered possibilities, unpleasantries which Will determinately focused on to dull the effect: How he’d gotten there.   
  
Wandering in the corridor of a whorehouse in the middle of the night always came with the chance of something that was considered inappropriate in the polite society would be encountered. Happenstances, such as scantily clad ladies storming out of the various rooms, giggling with a wink and an amorous smile, most often a patron in their wake, fired up by the chase.  
  
Things Will had gotten accustomed to, over time, and with a little help from Jack.  
  
Nothing had prepared Will for waking up with his throat parched, and his innocent accident, upon retrieving a jug and a mug in search for fresh water, leading him to a very, very wrong room indeed. A room with a large mirror standing next to the bed, in front of which there were intimate acts performed with the wildest abandon.  
  
No. It didn’t really work. Will gave a long-suffering glance down at himself and swallowed hard, then pinched the root of his cock with an anticipatory grimace in hopes that it would diminish the throbbing pressure, but he only managed to return to his initial revelation - He wanted  _that_. He wanted that so much that all feelings of unspeakable wretchedness that he recognized, lost their meaning in relief to wanting  _exactly_  that. No manner of reprobation seemed to dull the extraordinary yearn to be fucked like that - He could see Jack’s face like he’d never seen before, like the woman had been watching her temporary lover.  
  
His pulse still drumming fast in his chest like a small bird flapping its wings in search for a way out, Will forced himself to take a sobering breath, and flung his eyes open.   
  
Pushing himself away from the wall, the delighted groans and moans of the pair in the room surging through the door only adding to Will’s current troubles, as he awkwardly headed back to their own room, his thirst forgotten now that his mouth was watering with the prospect for having a whole another craving catered.  
  
He needed Jack. Burned for him, Jack’s cock deep inside him, the slow, rewarding movement and his kisses, bites.   
  
And a mirror from which to watch it all happen.

________________

Action

Dust mites were the only thing moving in the still air of the  _Painted Lady_ , set swirling in the noon light by the owners coat tail as he’d swung around in a huff, announcing his leave with a French splendor…and a rather loud bang of the door.  
  
Sent on his way to do whatever it was that the grand voguist Pierre Bouspeut did when he had excess time in his hands, with what Capitaine Sparrow had referred to as rent in his pocket, and the instructions to ‘tread carefully’ when he should return, Monsignor Bouspeut took a turn, heading towards the  _Strutting Cock_ , as it was the way his feet seemed to lead while he could but blink blindly.   
  
Peering through the thick glass of the boutique window, Jack followed Pierre’s way until he lost sight of him. “There he goes!” Drawing the curtain shut, bringing the fitting room into light much softer than the piercing rays the sun had offered, Jack turned halfway around with a pleased smile on his lips, and clapped his hands together as if he’d achieved something greater than the place for him and Will. Alone.   
  
With the reason of their sudden longing for privacy standing beside a row of fancifully decorated screens, under a velvet cloth tossed there for easy measuring, for it was destined to drape snugly around the back of a blacksmith. That is, if Pierre were ever allowed to finish his work.   
  
At the moment, Jack had his mind set on draping himself around said blacksmith’s back, right there, where the man stood in front of the mirror in his shirt and breeches, stray wisps of his hair having escaped their queue and framing his seemingly unseeing eyes.  
  
Jumping down from the windowsill he’d been resting on, Jack trudged carefully towards Will, who roused from his spell at the sound.  
  
Face slightly flushed, Will swallowed hard, his eyes shifty and hands curling into balls, as he managed to press through his parched throat, “You’re sure he’s not coming back, Jack?”  
  
“Quite sure, luv. He knows better than to cross me, even when he’s not entirely agreeing with the notion.” A step more, and Jack’s hand curved to a sturdy shoulder, stroking down equally firm arm in a pacifying manner. “Reminds me of someone I know, really.”  
  
The small chuckle lifted from Will’s chest created a more relaxed air. “Just making sure. I wouldn’t put it past him if he was to stay spying, hoping for a glimpse of you.”  
  
“Hmmm…” Sliding into Will’s arms, making use of his new position, Jack hummed into Will’s neck, tugging at the string in his hair to let loose the rest of the curls. “You’re being jealous. I like that.”  
  
“Wouldn’t you?” Stretching his neck back while his fingers lacing into Jack’s hair, Will stared himself in the eye, not surprised his features had taken a stone-like shift.   
  
For a brief moment, Jack only breathed in Will’s scent, his eyes closed, nose pressed against the minute vibration under Will’s skin, before pulling back to look at the man.  
  
“You have no idea.”  
  
The dark growl made the base of Will’s spine tingle, together with the black gaze coalescing with his sending his head spinning.  
  
Neither of them had forgotten that night at the  _Purple Rose_. That night of the happy accident, when Will had returned to their room, refusing, unable to explain his abrupt mood change before Jack was safely, deeply, lodged right up inside Will. Both of them remembered in vivid detail, the feverish words spilling from Will as Jack rocked him in his lap, the pressure building with each passionate whisper gusting from the breathless venturer.   
  
That was about when Jack had settled with the plan to change rooms for the next night. Only if someone hadn’t beat them to it.  
  
To be perfectly honest, it hadn’t occurred to either Jack or Will that there was indeed a mirror at the  _Painted Lady_ , nor that it wouldn’t take much to invade the shop, until it had been Will twisted this way and that, his measurements taken, the dark violet cloth wrapped around him, and Will had met Jack’s appreciating grin, and within seconds, a voiceless accord had been made.  
  
Not unlike the one being made right now, the two men holding each other in the grip of their aspects, unuttered demands masquerading as promises, and devoted troths veiled thinly as claims sparking between them, assuaging, while arousing with their intensity.   
  
The room filled with tension ready to snap and take the form in which it was of the best use, Will, not yielding as much as succumbing, flung forth to catch Jack’s lips into a molten-hot kiss.   
  
Nigh frantic, ripping Jack’s shirt over his head, all the while Jack was nimbly unfastening Will’s breeches, Will found himself trembling at the first touch on Jack’s bare chest, disoriented by the sight of the pirate’s back in the mirror.  
  
A deep, steadying gasp of air coming out in a groan, and Will could steel himself enough to breath somewhat evenly, though his mind was racing, leaping ahead of itself.  
  
“I’ve dreamt of this.” His voice shuddering, Will watched keenly at his own hands traveling along Jack’s shoulder blades, the feeling under his palms mixing with the sense of Jack’s fingers raking across his as they pressed together with all their shared need.  
  
“I know. As have I.” Rendering Will into warm wax in his hands with only his voice on the best of days was a trait Jack had mastered a long time ago. Laden with pure, unhindered and bare lust, the effect was always ten fold - like here, when the short, innocent words reached Will’s core, making him draw in a sob, and fasten his hand around Jack’s manhood.  
  
The feel of coarse wool under his touch rather than the silken skin of Jack brought Will to a frustrated halt, Jack’s wrists restrained with annoying cotton at the same time, and a quick assessment of the situation was in order. They were both hard, aching, Will with his breeches around his ankles, Jack shirtless and flustered, his hair spilling over his shoulders and down his back, his head scarf drooping, ready to fall and free the auburn-black mane for good, which resulted in mumbled oaths and the ‘Off with this,’ and the sighed; ‘that’s a relief,” once they stood naked, eyes roaming greedily, one pair stealing a needy glance in the mirror as often as one to Jack’s cock.  
  
There was not a hint of mischief or banter in the voice that spoke first, quietly, as is afraid of breaking some bizarre magic that had brought them here, when Will reached to snatch away the drooping scarf; “Jack, you’re shivering. Don’t tell me you’re backing away.”  
  
“Wouldn’t even think of it,” Jack replied as silently, indeed shivering, hesitant, yet, obviously far gone beyond the point of retreat. “I want you. This. With you… Us.” The instinctive wave of a hand to paint the message brushed away whatever suspicions were glooming in the back of Will’s head, springing him into motion, and once more capturing Jack in a buss, this time, greeted with the blessed sensation of smooth heat against his own flesh.  
  
Blindly, Jack kissed a trail over Will’s cheek, next to his ear, “I want you to turn around for me, William.” A deft step, his arms around Will’s waist, and Jack had reversed their places, this time both the men facing the looking glass.  
  
Panting, they met each other’s gaze in the mirror, a dazed smile playing in the corners of their mouths as if declaring the beginning of the games.  
  
Simply standing there, Jack’s arms across Will’s chest, Will’s arms hugging Jack’s, watching themselves with Jack’s heartbeat against Will’s back, his hips pressed insistently to Will’s arse, it was like they were only seeing each other for the first time.  
  
Only much more better.  
  
“Look at you.” His tongue feeling thick in his mouth, Jack wedged his arms gently from Will’s hold, earning the strong fingers on his thigh, and the reward of a nipple appearing from its hiding. Slowly, cherishing each moment passing too fast, Jack slid his hand to Will’s wrist, forcing the man to reveal himself fully for Jack's immense pleasure. “Look at you, Will, you’ll be the death of me yet.”   
  
With only the very tip of his fingers, Jack drew a line through the middle of Will’s chest, over the solar plexus, right above his navel, where he splayed his hand to Will’s stomach, dandling him, considering thoroughly how the dimmed daylight made his loved one’s skin glow with hues he’d never seem before. Not like this. Not in a mirrored image. “God you’re beautiful.”  
  
Lulled into a dream-like state by his own senses as well as Jack’s maneuvers, Will brushed a light circle to Jack’s thigh, anchoring himself in the hairs under his fingers lest he’d float away.   
  
His throat constricted, Will could merely let out a small mewl when Jack’s fingers continued on their path, sliding tenderly down the taut skin of Will’s cock, while his other hand found a nipple to play with.   
  
Up again, a brush of Jack’s rough thumb over the slick tip of Will’s cock, and Will had to close his eyes for the time it took for him to calm himself enough to talk. “I love your hands, Jack.” A hiss at a sharp, sobering pinch of his nipple, the simultaneous hand around his cock, and the rest of his sentence spewed out in a low moan; “I love them on me…”  
  
Twisting around, lips burning to kiss whatever skin he could reach, Will let himself into those hands fully, murmuring, pleased at the open-mouthed breath Jack panted watching himself manipulate the blacksmith like fluid iron. If only he could have a taste….  
  
“Jack, please…”   
  
Will’s predicament was not unlike Jack’s own. The chance to fulfill their mutual fantasy had presented itself unexpectedly, whipping their desire into heights where there was only a rapid way down, and the way Will’s bollocks drew up, how his cock jerked at Jack delving his hand lover and around the sack, spoke of him tumbling post haste.  
  
Jack’s heart rate picked up a pace at the realization that he’d get to watch it all happen, more intimately perhaps than he ever had.   
  
As anxious as Will, Jack lowered his hand from the hard, reddened pebbles reluctantly, to press it between Will’s thighs, urging him to spread his legs, never stopping his quickening strokes along Will‘s shaft, knowing that the time was near, the delightful waves of Will‘s muscles in the abdomen rippling under his arm, the young man trying desperately to hold back.   
  
Eager, accommodating, Will followed suite and at the instant, Jack guided his cock betwixt Will’s legs, tightly against Will’s soft, responsive skin, poking at his tender sack provokingly, giving Will no choice but to reach down to touch the tip of Jack’s cock, as his whole body screamed, despairing for that touch.   
  
Voice harsh, warm as a thousand furnaces, eyes fixed in the mirror, not knowing what he wanted to see the most and trying to see everything, leaning to take support on the frame, Will mustered between moans, “It’s not enough!”  
  
In response, Jack withdrew his palm from Will’s hip, gradually dragging his nails over Will’s lover back and onto the cleft of his arse, spreading his fingers against the back so that his thumb pressed into the excitable skin Jack so loved to kiss.  
  
A gentle stroke of a thumb, the incessant push of Jack’s cock, was a promise for Will that there would be no gruntles.  
  
Will could let go now.  
  
Deprived of grasping Jack’s hand into his, Will was left clasping Jack’s hip the best he could reach, the fingers of his other hand down to stroke Jack’s cock, the sweet pressure next to his hole so inviting, Will could not but to clench his teeth against the rush of pleasure seeping from Jack, encompassing Will’s whole being, until there was nothing but pure, white light, and the sound of Jack’s awe through it; “Jesus, Will! Oh, God,  _look at you!_ ,” right before the added beautitude of Jack’s seed on Will’s skin.  
  
Breathless, the men slithered down to the floor, unable to keep themselves up right any longer, Jack grabbing the velvet cloth on their way down, and with much effort, spreading it beneath them to limply flop on.  
  
Arranging his head to rest on Jack’s arm, Will struggled to catch his air, clinging Jack tight to himself, breathing, “That was better than I dared to imagine.”  
  
Jack let out a little laugh, melding himself to the contours of Will’s body. “Wait until we get to the fucking, darling.”  
  
Flinging his leg over Jack’s, Will bit Jack’s shoulder playfully, “How long do I have to wait?”

**Author's Note:**

> The Painted Lady and Pierre are the brainchild of my dear friend that I had permission to use for my own perverted activities. Thank you so much for that, sweetheart.


End file.
